A most unlikely cupid
by BelstaffJumper
Summary: Sherlock notices a subtle change in the way John treats Mycroft. To his great annoyance, his brother noticed it too and starts being more attentive to John. He's jealous, he knows Mycroft would have no scruples in seducing John if that was somehow advantageous to him. My lighter Johnlock story, rated M for content (mention of Sherlock's past with drugs).
1. Not so unexperienced?

A/Notes: I was trying to write a happier and lighter Johnlock story, with less angst, a bit more fun. But my beta thought this first chapter was a little too dark, dealing with Sherlock's past drug use. I tried to lighten it up but it's still a bit serious. It was necessary, as you will see. Just like my other stories, I'll post a chapter daily, so you won't have to wait too long. Please review if you can, and do let me know when things don't quite work. That helps me improve. It has not been Brit-picked.

Disclaimer: I don't own them, otherwise you wouldn't be reading these stories, but watching them on the telly. :)

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**1\. Not so unexperienced?**

Greg sat his pint down. 'John, we're friends, right? So I hope you don't mind me asking.'

_Christ, here we go again_, John thought. He knew what was coming.

'But are you and Sherlock...?'

'Are we what?'

'Um, you know, er.'

'No, I don't. Finish your bloody sentence.'

'Er, are- are you, you know, more than just friends?'

'No, Greg. We are not. How many times do I have to say it? I'm not gay.'

'Sorry, sorry. It's just that, well, Sherlock never showed interest in anybody, and one day, there you are. What were we to think?'

John sighed, 'Greg, you just said it. Sherlock never shows interest in anybody. Why would I be different? He has told me in the past, he considers himself married to his work, so he has no interest in relationships. Plus, for all I know, he might still be a virgin.' Facing forward, he lifted his pint.

Greg looked disconcerted. 'Well, he isn't.'

John's head snapped back at Greg at this remark, cup in mid air, mouth agape. 'What do you mean? How-?' Then, after a pause, 'Have you-?'

'God, no! No.'

'Then, how-?'

'John, I have known Sherlock for longer than you. You know he was a drug addict. Think, John. If you were a drug dealer with the right inclinations, would you pass an opportunity to have someone like Sherlock? Wouldn't you want to get him in your bed when he craved a hit? Even I can see how attractive he is.'

John felt as if he had been hit on the head with this, he often forgot about Sherlock's past. What Greg said was so obvious! Yet, it was also disconcerting the way he had phrased it, 'Wouldn't _you_ want to get him in _your_ bed'.

'Greg, you've seen something, haven't you?'

Greg looked away from John and stared straight ahead. 'Once, I had been on a case and we were going to arrest a drug dealer as a suspect for murder. We stormed into this run-down flat, but the suspect bolted through the window. The other guys chased him, but he escaped. I stayed behind because I found Sherlock, passed out, naked on the bed.'

'Christ!'

'Yeah. Not pretty,' he paused. With the unwanted images surfacing back, Greg's face changed as if a dark cloud had passed over his eyes. Sighing, he continued, 'We never caught that dealer. We took Sherlock to A&amp;E and I was there waiting for him to come to, to get a statement. That's when his brother showed up. Sherlock would not give us anything, not even with Mycroft's threats. Instead, he ended up proving the bloke's innocence and handing us the actual murderer a few days later. You see, he trusted that dealer enough. He knew what he needed to do in order to get what he wanted.'

'His body is only transport.'

'Exactly. I think he'd rather deal with someone he knew than having to move on to someone else. Someone who could do worse things to him. Also, Mycroft yelled a lot at that time. Well, technically it wasn't yelling, but you know, that way he talks. I gathered that he had found Sherlock passed out in dirty alleys, with his pants down, more than once. So it wasn't just that dealer. You know, with the CCTV-'

'Oh, Greg. Please stop.'

'Sorry, mate.'

John felt crushed and sorry to hear this. He didn't want to think Sherlock had been that vulnerable to all sorts of predators like this. Greg was right, no dealer (with the right inclinations) would've passed an opportunity to have Sherlock. _But... wait._

'The strange thing is, Mycroft was the one that implied Sherlock was still a virgin.'

'Ah, probably just winding Sherlock up. You were there when he said that, weren't you? Figures. He knew Sherlock wouldn't talk about his drug related encounters in front of you, more like it. Those two! Sherlock always taunts Mycroft about his weight. He's not skinny like Sherlock, but he's not fat either.'

'It was during a case we were doing for Mycroft. Sherlock said, "Sex doesn't alarm me" and Mycroft replied "How would you know?" Greg, you should've seen the look on Mycroft's face when he said that, it was quite vicious. Sherlock was angry but didn't talk back, that's why I thought his brother was right.'

Greg pondered for a while, 'I think when Mycroft said that, he might've been referring to Sherlock being too out of it to remember or care.'

After a long pause Greg continued, 'You know, as much as those two bicker, I take my hat off to Mycroft. Sherlock can be a handful at the best of times. But a Sherlock with a drug addiction... Those were terrible times. Only once, Mycroft let his guard down with me. He said he lived in constant fear of getting _the_ phone call or a knock on his door, asking him to go to the morgue and identify a body.'

'Christ!'

'Mycroft eventually made him get cleaned up, and got Sherlock more involved with solving cases. Sherlock might've invented his profession, but it was Mycroft's influence that gave him a link to the Yard, after that case with the dealer. The negotiation was something like, "stay clean and the Yard will give you cases. If you start using again, I'll make sure they know".'

...

After digesting this new information, it made sense to John why Sherlock would be so uninterested in sex or relationships. In his experiences, sex was just a requirement to get the drugs he craved. There had been no emotional connection, no love. Only a transaction. He doubted the dealers had been gentle or caring. No wonder he preferred to be alone and not have friends. People in his past just used him. This cemented his resolve to be Sherlock's best friend, and give him all that he had never had before.

This also gave him a better understanding for Mycroft's attitude when they had first met.

_"What is your connection to Sherlock Holmes? ...And since yesterday you've moved in with him and now you are solving crimes together. Might we expect a happy announcement by the end of the week?"_

He could see how dodgy he might've looked in Mycroft's eyes. Being a doctor, clearly he had access to drugs. It probably didn't help that at that time he was still struggling with his PTSD and didn't have a job, only his small pension. Not a stretch of the imagination to think he'd try to live off of Sherlock, exchanging drugs for sex. Now even the bribe attempt made more sense. Mycroft had stepped in swiftly, his background already thoroughly checked - down to his therapist's notes, and made the offer of a steady pay. Had he taken it, surely there would've been conditions to prevent John from harming Sherlock.

He always acted so much like Big Brother (in both senses) because he was, in fact, worried and ultra protective of Sherlock. He was still a pain in the arse, but now John had a deeper respect for him. He stuck by his brother, made him get cleaned up and watched over him constantly, much in the way John did, albeit at a much larger and creepier scale.

Which explained in part why Sherlock was so hostile and resentful. In a way, he owed his brother for all he currently had. In Sherlock's mind, Mycroft had the power to take the cases away from him. Plus, this over-protectiveness, the constant watch, as if he were a prisoner or a child, was suffocating. He understood perfectly well Mycroft's despair and his fear of losing Sherlock forever through the drug addiction. He could relate to that. John himself had seen the side of Sherlock that was irresponsible, careless, reckless, too over-confident for his own good, taking risks without any regard for his own safety. His nicotine cravings were already a bit alarming; someday cigarettes might not be enough. John made a mental note to be a little more charitable next time he dealt with that toffee nosed git. Name calling notwithstanding.

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A/Note: Mystrade if you squint and cross your eyes, a nod to **ZiggyPlayGuitar**.


	2. Mycroft's manipulation

**2\. Mycroft's manipulation**

'Why were you so... _cordial_ with Mycroft?' Sherlock spat, wrinkling his nose and throwing his hands up.

'Sherlock, he's still your brother.'

'I don't see you extending such courtesy to Harry.'

John felt himself slapped. 'Well, it's easier with Mycroft.'

'How so?'

'I didn't grow up with him, I suppose,' he smiled.

'Be thankful you didn't.'

'I am.'

But Sherlock was extremely annoyed, now and then throwing him a baffled sideways glance.

_The way he looked at Mycroft, what did it mean? And why is he smiling?_

...

Mycroft had noticed it too. John had treated him subtly different this time. It left him slightly amused. _An attempt to gain my sympathy?_ He noticed that Sherlock had seen it too. _He is jealous!_ He smirked, this confirmed his initial suspicions. It would be most amusing to use this to spite Sherlock. He made a mental note to be more attentive to the doctor in the future, to use this knowledge to his best advantage.

...

John came downstairs one morning to find both brothers glaring at each other in opposite chairs. Mycroft was sitting on "Sherlock's chair", which he knew was intentional. And if he knew it, both brothers did too.

Mycroft turned his head towards John, but his eyes followed a little later, still challenging his brother. 'And good morning to you, John.' His face changed and he even smiled.

'Good morning, Mycroft.' Uncertain, he tried to diffuse the tension. 'Erm, would you like some tea?'

'That would be lovely, thank you, John.'

As John turned towards the kitchen, he heard Mycroft turn back to Sherlock, sighing. 'Sherlock, this is important. I cannot let this fall into the wrong hands. The matter needs discretion.'

'You have a secret service, why me?'

'Clearly this was an inside job. Secrets still leak and we cannot afford this. We do know that there are at least three other countries interested in this information. We would like you to track this file down and retrieve it for us. And handing over who's behind the mole in the process, too. Obviously.'

...

Mycroft extended the folder to Sherlock, who stubbornly refused to take it. So he got up and walked to the sofa where John sat with his tea. He was only going to hand it, but had a sudden inspiration. He sat down facing John, a little closer than he normally would, but not enough to alarm the man. He knew his brother would notice and would be watching. 'John, as I see my brother is still being childish and petulant, I will hand this to you.' Unconsciously, John shifted to face him, his position mirroring and copying the elder Holmes's, following his lead. John took the file and opened it, looking at the photos inside.

'I trust you understand this cannot be made public. A matter of National Security, you see.'

John looked up long enough to say 'Of course, Mycroft. I would never blog about this type of case. But it's up to Sherlock to accept the case, you know?' He glanced at Sherlock, then returned his attention to the photos. Mycroft took this opportunity to rove his eyes up and down John's body with a calculated amount of lust and a smirk. 'Thank you John.' Then he got up and stood before Sherlock, who was - he knew - seething underneath that mask of calm. 'Sherlock, if you decide to take this case you can be sure...' and he let his eyes dart to the sides, as if pointing at John behind him, then lifting an eyebrow, with the smirk still in his lips.

John's eyebrows shot up, his forehead wrinkling as he looked up at the two brothers. He saw Sherlock's head go up a fraction, nostrils flaring minutely, barely disguising his anger, even to John. Mycroft had his back to him, so John couldn't tell what else was behind that unfinished sentence.

_What did that mean? _

After a couple of heartbeats, Sherlock made a grudgingly small nod, looking away, a sour expression on his face. His brother smiled triumphantly, turned halfway to John and said 'Thank you for your help, John.' Then, as an afterthought, turning around he bowed slightly, 'Oh, and thanks for the tea. Perfectly brewed.'

John replied the usual words, but felt embarrassed without knowing exactly why. As soon as the door closed downstairs he was about to ask what that last exchange had meant when Sherlock got up and yelled 'What is the matter with you?'

Stunned, it took him a few seconds to respond. 'What? What did I do?'

'Promptly offered him tea, used the expensive loose blend, not the bagged kind, served in our best china. Then sat silently as he abused me, showing him respect and awe.'

'What are you talking about? He's the British Government, for God's sake, I can't just hand him a chipped cup, can I? And when did he abuse you?'

'Of course, I forget what an idiot you are. You see and _never_ observe.'

'Gee thanks! At least he is nice to me, and doesn't call me an idiot. All I see is sibling rivalry, how is that my fault? It's been going on for only you two know how long; long before I offered him tea. This had nothing to do with me, though. Am I right? What exactly did he mean with his last words to you? Was it a threat of some sort? That's what you meant by his "abuse"?'

Sherlock didn't answer, just whirled around and swept to his room, slamming the door.

...

Once alone, Sherlock paced around, furious. The message had been clear._ If you take this case I won't take him from you._ He stopped in his tracks. _Could he?_ Mycroft had always been discrete about his conquests, so Sherlock had no idea what his brother actually liked. He had never been interested in knowing, just knew they existed. Whether or not he would be interested in John was irrelevant. His brother must have also noticed the difference in John's manner on their last interaction and most certainly had figured out Sherlock's... _interest_ for his flatmate. So he knew how to threaten Sherlock's peaceful life with John Watson. Despite always protesting he wasn't gay, there was that deference John reserved for Mycroft. It showed in his body language today. Could it be that John was attracted to his brother? Or star struck? He had never thought about how others might see him before. Growing up together, he never thought of his brother as handsome or ugly, only annoying, smug, full of himself. He tried to analyse it dispassionately.

Mycroft:

1\. Is tall (_-er than I_).  
2\. Has piercing and intelligent blue eyes (_beautiful eyes? Can't see it, don't know_).  
3\. Has straight hair that remains perfectly in place, combed (_albeit receding_, he added with venom).  
4\. Is always immaculately well dressed (_not to his credit, his job requires it)_.  
5\. Is (_admitting it grudgingly_) smarter and better adjusted. Socially better equipped.  
6\. Has been annoyingly good at maintaining his diet lately and is currently in good shape.  
7\. Oozes self confidence and control. _He always knows when and how to use his charm to his advantage._  
8\. Has an aura of power around him. _He's the British Government, for God's sake_, John had said._ Power is the best aphrodisiac_, said... _irrelevant_.*

He sank on his bed.

After an hour, Sherlock finally managed to emerge from his room. 'Come on, John. We have a case to solve.'

_The faster I solve it, the sooner Mycroft will leave us alone. He promised that. I will not risk losing John to him._

His brother's mantra echoed in his mind, 'Caring is not an advantage, Sherlock.' He made sure Sherlock understood it now.

* * *

* Henry Kissinger said that. I just didn't think Sherlock wouldn't have deleted such trivia. Quite a disgusting thought that it worked for Kissinger! It should work for Mycroft though. ;)

Disgruntled grumbling: can I just say I absolutely hate the editing capacities of this site? Just had to vent...


	3. Offensive manoeuvre

A/Note: I was astonished that some of you already favorited this story by chapters 1 (!) and 2. As I told one of the reviewers, I was afraid you'd find the beginning too boring. So I was very surprised and happy with the response so far. This story has only 6 chapters, you won't have to wait too long to see what happens next.

Enjoy this next chapter, Mycroft really _is_ the king of manipulation! And please review, it's always great to have feedback. Thank you, thank you, thank you! You guys are awesome!

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**3\. Offensive manoeuvre**

'Oh, hi Mycroft. Sherlock is out, but he'll be home soon, he texted me about twenty minutes ago. He was at St. Bart's analysing some residues and I think he might've cracked it.'

'Good, good. He hasn't returned my calls, so I came to remind him this is a time sensitive case.'

John frowned. 'But you probably already knew that he wasn't here, didn't you?'

Mycroft smiled. He could see why his brother took a fancy to this retired army doctor. Hands in his pockets, he answered casually, 'Yes, John. You are correct. I just thought I'd use this opportunity to have a word with you before he arrives. You have questions?'

John's mouth formed a closed "o" shape as he thought about how to word it, changing it at the last minute from "what" to 'The day you handed him this case. What did you mean at the end? Something that irritated him immensely, as if you had yelled abuse at him.'

'Very perceptive of you, John.' Mycroft saw, over John's shoulder, Sherlock on the street, slowing his pace as he glared at the black car parked outside the flat. 'I assure you, I meant no ill to my brother. He's a brilliant man and could achieve so much more if only he joined me.' As he spoke, he slowly walked around, getting closer. 'But alas, he still holds grudges.' He turned to face John. 'So on occasion I have to resort to carefully chosen words to get him to cooperate with me. But know this.' There was the sound of Sherlock opening the door downstairs. Ignoring the etiquette of personal space, Mycroft took a step forward and lowered his mouth to John's ear. He whispered, 'He's still my baby brother. And I would do _anything_ to protect him, against _anyone_ who threatens him.'

And there was the sound of Sherlock stopping on his tracks.

He saw his flatmate backed up against the desk, with no way out, crowded by his brother, who was leaning over and whispering in his ear.

'Ah, Sherlock. John tells me you might have solved the case?' he said smiling nonchalantly, as he casually stepped away from John, hands still in his pockets.

Sherlock was furious. John was flushed, breathing slightly faster, his pulse thudding in his neck, his forehead creased, eyes wide and he seemed... alarmed?

'What are you doing?' Sherlock asked, not bothering to conceal his anger.

'You haven't returned my calls. Very impolite of you, I must say. So I came here just to make sure you weren't ignoring this case. And our - agreement,' he tilted his head, smirking.

Sherlock did all he could not to look at John. He averted his eyes from his brother also as he walked in and handed him a small plastic bag. 'General Willis is your mole. I found these ashes near the crime scene, where the body was dumped. His preferred brand of cigar. Now take your tedious file with you.'

'Not so fast, dear brother.'

Sherlock sighed and threw himself on his chair, picking up his violin and plucking the strings quietly as he explained in a bored tone. 'Classic case of blackmail. They threatened someone close to him, most certainly his daughter, given the framed picture in his office. He was coerced into stealing the files, but unfortunately was caught by your MOD man and panicked. Struck him, and the unfortunate victim hit his head on the corner of the desk, dying instantaneously. Given the publicity around the man's death, I suggest you may still have time to intercept the files. It's my opinion the blackmailers are waiting until the heat of the press and internal investigations die down a little before contacting him. Secure his daughter first, then he'll be glad to help you.' Mycroft had already taken out his mobile and made a cryptic phone call.

'Thank you, dear brother. You can rest assured now,' he smirked. 'You have my gratitude,' he bowed slightly. 'Enjoy the rest of your day. John.'

John was confused. He couldn't understand what Mycroft had meant. Did he not trust him around Sherlock? Was that a threat? It sure sounded like a very creepy one. He knew his brother was about to come in, so he made sure only John heard him. Before Sherlock could say anything, he ran downstairs. Outside, just as Mycroft was getting inside the car, he called 'Wait, Mycroft!'

He turned. That self satisfied grin was back. 'Yes, John. You have questions?'

'What was that all about? What you said to me? Do you think I mean to harm your brother?' He was offended that Mycroft could think so poorly of him after all this time.

He smiled and looked up at the window. Sherlock was watching. Luckily John was so much shorter that his brother wouldn't be able to read his lips as he lowered his face. 'No John, my apologies. I did not mean to make that sound like a threat. I knew Sherlock was about to come in, so I had to talk quietly. You see, he would never admit that I do care about him. It only infuriates him, so I try to avoid public displays of... affection, you may say.'

John let his breath out. 'You know, you two have a very warped way to show you care for each other. Next time, could you please leave me out of all this...' and he gestured vaguely.

'I'm afraid I can't, John.' He stepped forward again, bringing his face closer, his piercing blue eyes glinting as he said quietly, 'You see, I _do_ observe. And I - _still_ \- trust you with my brother.'

John blanched and took a step back, blinking, his eyes huge. _No. He couldn't mean-._

Mycroft lifted his chin up and looked down at John, with a smug smile. 'But rest assured John.' He tilted his head back down to hide his lips again, 'I have no desire to interfere at this early stage. I trust your sincerity. You are a good man and a good influence on Sherlock. Don't worry, I won't mention it to him. Have a good day.'

_Damn the Holmes brothers! Of course he had noticed. Sherlock just hadn't because it isn't "his area"._ He stood on the pavement, breathing hard, staring at the disappearing car for a while. _So basically "I'll break your kneecaps if you hurt him" was what that was about. _He shivered. He knew Mycroft would be more than capable of breaking his kneecaps (or rather, sending someone over to do it), and worse. _Early stage? I don't even know where this is going or if it has anywhere to go._

Still feeling uneasy and shaken, John went back upstairs. But Sherlock threw a hissy fit asking what Mycroft had said, why John had run to him, what they had said to each other next. He tried to convey the creepy way Mycroft had almost threatened him, but Sherlock knew there was more that John wasn't telling. In his deep disgust towards his brother everything seemed to make him angrier. John guessed Sherlock was still upset for having been forced to take this case, but couldn't help reacting to the anger directed at him. They shouted at each other, and Sherlock left in a strop.

...

'Sher-'

_'What did you say to him?'_

He chuckled amused. 'Nothing that the good doctor hasn't already told you.'

'No, there's more. You manipulated him to go after you. What are you doing?'

'He is quite predictable, isn't he? But do not worry. As endearing as he is, I won't take him away from you, as promised. Now if you'll excuse me, I do have to end this call. I just arrived at my next appointment. You _do_ have my gratitude, Sherlock. Good day.'

Sherlock almost threw his phone on the pavement. Undoubtedly his brother had no interest in John, but that would not deter him from seducing the doctor if it was useful in some inexplicable way. John could easily be fooled into this kind of manipulation. Luckily, John wasn't gay. Oh, how he loathed his brother for having seen this weakness in him. That he was attracted to John.

Who now was very likely very much angry at him. _Mycroft manipulated me perfectly. I took the case and now I pushed John away._

He stopped, _Of course! Pushing us apart is the means to eliminate what he perceives as my weakness._ Sherlock _really_ loathed his brother!

He kept on walking, pondering about how to end this fight today, and make sure that John stayed by his side. They needed a murder. He texted Lestrade.

Soon he received the reply (**Sorry, nothing for you today. GL**). This was frustrating! The criminal minds never seemed to cooperate when needed! So he did the next best thing he could think of. He stopped on his way home to get some takeaway and milk. It should count for something.

...

Alone at the flat, John pondered again and again about all that Mycroft had said. He had affection for Sherlock, no doubt about that, they were friends, after all. In fact, he considered Sherlock one of his best friends, as absurd as this would sound to anyone else. Yes, he admitted he was a bit star struck in the beginning, Sherlock's amazing mind was astonishing. It was hard not to gravitate towards Sherlock's brilliance, but there was no reason to believe such attraction was sexual. Mycroft was making it sound like more than what this really was.

All his life he had never been attracted to men, he was straight and that was that. Simple.

But then, he had met Sherlock. Nothing about that man was simple.

He heard the door downstairs and the familiar footsteps coming up. Before he turned his head he smelled curry.

Wordlessly, Sherlock took a box out of a carrier bag and placed it onto the coffee table, then went into the kitchen and put something in the fridge. Still silent, he went into his room.

John blinked at the coffee table, then, after a moment, stood up and peered inside the takeaway box. He didn't think Sherlock knew what his favourite Indian dish was, that was a surprise. He checked the fridge and there were two bottles of milk in there. _A peace offering?_ He smiled. It was only three in the afternoon, but he accepted the apology. It warmed his heart.


	4. The blind spot

A/Note: I had way too much fun with this chapter. Enjoy! ;)

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**4\. The blind spot**

Sherlock was sitting in his chair, legs crossed, elbows on the armrest, fingertips touching in front of his mouth. To the casual observer he was merely staring into space but, if one were to know his actual train of thought, it would be obvious he was staring at the empty chair in front of him.

John walked in after a day in surgery. He made a brief stop at the doorway, frowning. 'Hi Sherlock. Did you move at all today?'

Not surprisingly, he didn't respond, clearly lost in his mind. John shook his head, removed his jacket and headed for the kitchen. Sherlock's eyes flickered from the chair to his back as John puttered around, washing his hands, making tea, checking for dinner ingredients and such. Once John prepared two mugs, he turned towards the sitting room and looked back to his flatmate. Startled by the intensity of the stare, he frowned, looked down at his own clothes and back up again. The stare was still there.

'What?'

But there was still no answer. He walked towards Sherlock, and the gaze followed him, only averting when he stood next to him.

'Here's your tea,' he proffered it, but Sherlock failed to move. Annoyed, John set the mug down next to his chair and walked away to the desk. _Sometimes, a mere thank you would be nice!_

John grabbed his laptop to check his email and comments on his blog. As his eyes glanced at the telly, he did a double take. Sherlock was still staring at him, through the reflection on the screen.

'Sherlock, have I grown a second head? Why are you staring at me?'

No reply came. He sighed, walked all the way in front of the seated figure and bent down so their faces were level. 'Sherlock?' He waved his hand, but the eyes didn't blink, merely staring back at him. 'Sherlock?' _Okay, I'm starting to get worried now_. 'Sherlock?' He spoke louder and shook him.

'Hm?' Sherlock blinked, as if seeing him in the room for the first time, surprised to find John so close in front of him, their faces a mere foot away. 'When did you get home?' He said, uncomfortable with their proximity.

John hung his head and sighed, _he's got to be kidding!_ 'About fifteen, twenty minutes ago. How could you not know? You've been staring at me the whole time!'

He was genuinely surprised. 'I have?'

'Yes! Why were you staring at me? It's unnerving.'

'I was probably staring at nothing and you just happened to be in my field of view,' he turned away, slightly surprised but thankful that there was (_still hot - so, fresh_) tea at his elbow.

John merely blinked at him, his forehead wrinkling. Sherlock now seemed fascinated with his tea, avoiding eye contact. 'No, your eyes followed me around, and as I sat away from your field of view you were still staring at my reflection on the telly,' he pointed behind him.

'Nonsense, John. I don't recall. I must have been thinking of a case and you happened to be a figure moving about.'

' "I must have been thinking of a case"? You mean you don't know what you were thinking about?'

'No, I didn't mean _that_,' he said annoyed. 'I meant I _was_ thinking of a case and you moved around, giving me something to latch onto.'

'So you weren't looking at me, me?'

'Why would I?'

John sighed. 'No reason at all,' he muttered under his breath. 'Well, let me finish my tea, then I'll go have a shower and I'll throw something together for dinner. Did you not move the whole day?'

Sherlock looked around, and noticed it was getting dark outside. He had sat there in the morning, before John came down for breakfast. 'It appears not.'

'Then you will eat dinner. No arguing.'

...

'Sherlock! I said - dinner is on the table! Get your skinny arse in here, sit down and bloody eat! I just cooked for you, the least you can do is eat.'

Sherlock looked up, a bit baffled.

'Sherlock! If you don't come here to eat right now I'm gonna go over there and _make_ you!'

'Oh? I'd like to see you _try_,' he said bemused. That was his automatic response to a threat that usually came from Mycroft.

John let out an immensely exasperated sound, threw the ladle back into the pot, and walked towards him, menacingly. With a bit of angry satisfaction he saw the stunned apprehension on Sherlock's face. He hid it right away, but not before showing his fear. John had considered doing this many times before, but had always refrained. This time, he was too annoyed and frustrated to hold back. Sherlock had just pushed too far this evening, staring, ignoring, taunting him. Plus he was a bit resentful; after working the whole day and being tired, he still cooked for someone who stayed home the whole day _thinking_, just so that that someone would ignore him and dinner. The last challenging words were particularly grating. John didn't condone physical violence in principle, but sometimes it was just very difficult to swallow Sherlock's behaviour. But, strictly speaking, what he was about to do wasn't really violence, he told himself, but more of an extreme action (which, except for Sherlock's case, he would have never considered doing to others).

Sherlock didn't see it coming. Next thing he knew, John had flung him bodily over his shoulder and carried him to the kitchen as if he weighed nothing, kicked a chair away from the table and dumped him none too gently on it. Bringing his face mere inches away from Sherlock's, he said firmly, 'Eat.' The quiet word sounded even more dangerous than if he had yelled.

Sherlock was too startled to speak. He looked at John with wide eyes, but John lowered his face close again and repeated quietly, 'Eat.' He sheepishly and quickly grabbed the spoon thrust into his hand and looked at his bowl of soup.

Satisfied that Sherlock was going to comply, John grabbed a bowl for himself and sat down. _Maybe I should do this more often, if it makes him eat. _When he looked up again, he was surprised.

'Sherlock, are you all right?' John frowned now, and touched his forehead. 'Let me get the thermometer. You look and feel feverish.'

'I'm _fine_, John,' Sherlock protested, moving his chair further under the table, clearly uncomfortable.

Maybe it was just embarrassment, but John thought it best to check, just in case. He went to the bathroom to look for his thermometer.

...

Later on in bed, Sherlock thought about being carried over the shoulder by a very angry John. He felt his face burning.

_Such a primitive thing to do. Yet... _He had enjoyed it. Immensely. He felt his body respond to it as he ate, while still feeling the imprint of John's arms around the back of his thighs. John was much stronger than he looked.

But now, he imagined John flinging him on a bed instead of a chair. Then lying on top of him. His weight and strong hands pinning him, not allowing escape. Not that he'd dream of it.

...

John was almost asleep when his eyes opened in his darkened room. He thought he had heard a muffled cry. Listening for a while, he chucked it to being drowsy, perhaps already dreaming. He thought he had heard his name. And it sounded like Serlock's voice.

* * *

A/Notes: I personally love when John shows what a BAMF he can be (Sherlock likes it too).

I credit this final version to my beta, who said "make this more of an event" when talking about John carrying Sherlock. Originally I had gone through John's actions quickly, just as he (in my mind) would've seen it: the idea springing out of nowhere, dealt and done with. No big deal to him, just satisfying his anger. So I added to it and this is the result.

I also eliminated all that was going on in Sherlock's head throughout the staring. My beta thought it'd be more mysterious and fun that way, to see it through John's eyes. You guys can totally deduce what was going on inside Sherlock's head anyway, given the previous chapters.

If you can, let me know what you think. Hope you liked it! Tomorrow, Mycroft strikes again!


	5. Bloody lip

**Warning**: This case briefly mentions sexual violence.

A/Note: I'd like to apologise to **RoseJustice** and **20000 WPM**, I misinterpreted what you said. Please accept this chapter as my most respectful and humble apology.

This chapter is a bit more serious, but contains mildly BAMF!John. And mischievous Mycroft. So I hope it's still enjoyable.

* * *

**5\. Bloody lip**

Sherlock scanned the crowd. He had agreed to take this case much to his distaste. If it were up to him, he'd never work with/for Mycroft ever again, not after last time. But Mummy and Auntie Willelmina had asked both brothers for their help, as it involved one of his cousins. Mummy was particularly emphatic, he had to.

His cousin Edward had gone to a similar event a week ago, the guest list being almost identical. The next day we was found in a park, severely beaten, showing clear signs of sexual violence. He was still in hospital, unconscious. Sherlock and cousin Edward shared similar physical attributes, so the plan was to identify his attacker tonight. Edward was a shy young man, and wouldn't have accompanied a stranger upon meeting like this, especially now that he was in a steady relationship. Clearly, he had been forced, being that he was lanky and not very strong.

Reading the guests, he had narrowed down the suspects to five men. They had noticed him and after "interviewing" one of them, he had four. Given that one didn't seem interested in Sherlock (_he likes domineering bears_), there were only three left. _No, that one is impotent, so it's between those two. Tedious! Not even a four._

He wondered if John would have gotten the busty brunette's number, the woman he had been chatting up last time he had seen him. _How unfortunate that he looks so good in that suit._

Then he saw his brother carrying two glasses of wine. It occurred to him to check who would have merited such gallantry from his brother. He followed him with his gaze, and was not completely surprised when he saw Mycroft handing the second glass to John. He could see John's face, looking up and smiling politely at his brother while sipping the wine. With the music they had to talk right next to each other's ears to be heard.

'Hello there,' said a voice close to his ear. Sherlock turned and saw the second suspect he had been evaluating this evening. He was tall and handsome, but that was all. _Boring_. Yet, Sherlock used his acting skills, eyeing him with a calculated smile and a fake interest.

'I'm Brian,' the stranger smiled.

'I'm John,' Sherlock replied, noticing his own unconscious slip of the tongue.

'You seem a bit lonely, are you here all by yourself?'

'I'm afraid not. I'm here with my partner,' he replied - which was true.

'Oh? And he left you all by yourself the whole evening? That's not very nice of him. Where is he?'

'Over there, the blond one,' he indicated the two men. Just then, Mycroft had a hand in John's arm and was leaning over, talking in his ear, much closer than before. Closer than what would've been strictly necessary. John's chest rose and fell with his breathing, he looked a bit alarmed and was blushing. Sherlock was taken aback.

The suspect noticed his discomfiture. 'He seems to be enjoying himself. Maybe you should too. Would you like to go outside? It'll be easier to talk, less noise.'

Sherlock reminded himself of the task at hand and turned to smile at the suspect, 'I'm flattered, but maybe this is not such a good idea.' When Sherlock looked back, John was the one with a hand in Mycroft's arm, talking in his ear. Sherlock felt like burning inside.

'Come on', Brian said seductively in his ear. 'If he can have fun, so can you. I can see you want to. He doesn't give you enough attention, does he? I can give you what you need.'

Sherlock looked back at him as if pondering, and nodded after a suitable "struggling time with himself", chest heaving and all. The plan had worked, he knew this was the right man, but he was distracted. He just couldn't stand seeing his brother doing this. He felt he should interfere and snatch John out of his reach. But he knew that if he did anything of the sort, it would only push John into doing exactly the opposite. As his brother had most likely planned. _How dare he do this while I'm on a case? His case too!_

As he walked, the stranger took the liberty of touching him lightly on the small of his back, rubbing it. This brought up two disparate reactions in him simultaneously. Part of him recoiled at the mere idea of letting a stranger touch him again. The last time he had allowed that, he had been high. The other part of him felt the frisson of being desired again. He wished... if only someone else thought he was desirable.

...

Mycroft turned off the microphone on him and lowered his mouth to John's ear. He was very aware of Sherlock's eyes on them and what this would look like to him. He knew his people were watching and listening to Sherlock, so he allowed himself this indulgence.

'This suit looks good on you, John. _Sherlock_ agrees with me. He does love sharp dressed men, especially the ones who know what they want and how to take what they want.'

John's eyes were wide, and his heartbeat thudded loudly inside his chest. He wasn't expecting Mycroft laying it out like this, dragging out the words, making them sound so dirty.

Without pause he added, 'He couldn't take his eyes off of you tonight, it'll be a miracle if we manage to capture our suspect given how distracted he is. I've seen him react when you're fighting criminals, John. He likes it when you're more... assertive. All you have to do is push him against a wall, pin him and kiss him. He'll be putty in your hands then, and you will be able to do everything you want to do with him.'

John blinked nervously as Mycroft pulled away and looked down on him with a condescending smirk. He swallowed, embarrassed, the last words echoing in his head. Mycroft leaned again.

'Don't bother denying John. I know you want him. Well, he wants you too, he just can't see that it's mutual because sentiment is his blind spot. I can't stand you both being this blind, it's ridiculous.'

'Mycroft!' John pulled him by the arm and in turn spoke in his ear, urgently. 'Another suspect is chatting Sherlock up.' Mycroft turned his microphone back on. 'Now he's walking out with the suspect!' John urged.

Mycroft didn't look at his brother, but turned to John's ear again. 'Go after them and get Sherlock away from the suspect. Don't fight, he could be armed. My people are on stand by and will take him once you're both out of his reach.'

...

As Sherlock walked outside onto the terrace, Brian suddenly spun him around against the wall.

'You are really hot, you know that? If I were him, I wouldn't let you leave the house. I'd be spending day and night with you in bed. Oh, you and I are going to have fun tonight, John. All. Night. Long.'

Before Sherlock could respond, the man pressed against him, claiming his lips with searing kisses. When he finally caught on, he tried to push Brian away. To his surprise, the suspect held his wrists against the wall and continued assaulting his mouth. Sherlock was struggling now, trying to free himself. He knew he could throw his assailant off of him, he only needed to get his right foot behind-

'Get away from him.'

Sherlock felt a chill when he heard John's voice. It was low and calm, but that contained more menace than if he had shouted. He was instantly freed, and his bottom lip was bleeding. Brian held his hands out, trying to placate John. 'Hey, you seemed to be having fun with that other guy, so why shouldn't he?'

'He wasn't having fun with you. Anyone looking would be able to tell he was saying no to you. Now, you have two options: you can either leave on your own two feet, or you can leave in an ambulance. Your choice.'

The man just stared at John in disbelief. He could tell shortie here was dangerous; fighting him would be much more challenging than his lanky prey. _Unbelievable! No wonder he was reluctant, maybe he'll get beaten at home for this._ 'Easy, tiger. He's all yours. Don't know why, but he's yours.' He eyed Sherlock up and down. 'Pity.'

As the suspect moved away, both rivals walked in a circle, staring at each other. John made sure to place himself between the two, shielding Sherlock. Only when they were alone, John turned and handed Sherlock the handkerchief from his breast pocket. 'All right there, Sherlock?'

Sherlock nodded, pressing the silk handkerchief to his split lip. It was warm and smelled like John.

'What were you thinking, leaving the room with a suspect?' he hissed. 'Lucky for you, I just saw that in time and warned Mycroft. His men are tailing him right now.' Sherlock remained quiet. 'Here, let me see your lip.' He approached and held Sherlock's chin with a crooked finger, turning his face slightly sideways to inspect the cut. Staring at Sherlock's mouth, John licked his lower lip.

Sherlock was having difficulty breathing, now that John was standing so close. The fact that he had defended Sherlock and had acted almost like a jealous partner had pleased him. He felt - claimed. The John-scented silk, so soft on his lip just a second ago, now the finger holding his chin... He could smell John and feel the heat emanating from his body. And there was that habit of his, unconsciously licking his lip, making it look so wet and slick.

All these things were doing something to Sherlock. For a second he fantasised that John was going to do exactly what the suspect had just done to him. Attack him, pin him to the wall, have his way with him... There would be no resistance on his part. All he could hope for would be for his legs not to collapse under so much pleasure.

Something flickered in John's eyes, but it disappeared just as fast.

'John. Sherlock. We have him.'

John spun around and stepped away from Sherlock. 'Good. So are we done here?'

'Yes, John. You can both leave now if you want,' Mycroft smirked with a tilted nod of the head. Even in the dim light outside Sherlock noticed John's embarrassment at Mycroft's gaze.

'He's the one you're looking for,' Sherlock interjected, panting slightly. 'The other suspect couldn't have done it, he had an arm injury that would have prevented him from physically overpowering the victim. He hides it out of pride. This one, on the other hand, not only has the necessary strength, but also enjoys dominating and forcing himself on others. He enjoys hurting his partners,' he said, checking his own lip. It had stopped bleeding. 'Check his phone for numbers called recently. I'm sure you'll find other men willing to testify against him.'

John always hated when Sherlock put himself in danger like this. Tonight had been even more aggravating, that both brothers thought nothing of it. Mycroft too, could sometimes be too over-confident in his own powers. It had bothered him that he had chosen such an inopportune moment to switch off the microphone just to egg him on and, in a way, insult him. He made it sound like all he wanted was to get into Sherlock's pants.

No, it was far more complicated than that. John was straight, had never been even remotely interested in men, and didn't believe one could change orientation at will. Surely, it was some passing phase, this fascination with his flatmate. Nothing more.

Mycroft's knowing smirk made him feel foolish, as if not only he had read this thoughts, but was mocking him for making "lame excuses". Annoyed, he turned away, he just wanted distance from those eyes right now. 'Come on, Sherlock, let's go home. Good night, Mycroft.'

'Good night John. Sherlock. And John?'

John turned around and stared at him. Mycroft's smug smirk accompanied his words, 'Remember what I said, John.' He gave John a final once over, 'This suit looks good on you.' He turned and went in, leaving both flatmates behind. John swallowed and blushed. He turned to the door and, staring straight ahead, merely said 'Let's get out of here, Sherlock.'

They rode home in silence, in one of Mycroft's black cars. John was thinking so loudly Sherlock could almost hear him. Too bad he couldn't hear the exact words. Sherlock himself was still thinking of his own reaction as John had held his chin. He had felt tempted. If he had dipped forward and down, he could've kissed John and delete that most disgusting attack to his mouth. A kiss and all would be better. His lip still stung a bit, reminding him that John would never kiss him. And that stung deeper.


	6. A sack of potatoes

A/Note: I tried going in a different way on this last chapter. Hope you enjoy it!

* * *

**6\. A sack of potatoes**

When they got home John went in first. They were almost at the top landing when suddenly he spun around and pushed Sherlock against the wall. He was still one step higher, so their faces were at the same level. He looked into Sherlock's eyes, touched his cheek lightly and kissed him. He was surprisingly gentle, minding Sherlock's bruised lip.

Sherlock felt like he was melting into a warm puddle. But too soon he started to pull away, jolting Sherlock awake from his trance. No, he didn't want the kiss to end. His arms flew around John and pulled him back for more, making their bodies crash against each other's and Sherlock's back, against the wall. He eagerly tried to kiss John again.

'Sherlock, your lip,' he protested, pushing himself away.

'I don't care.'

'But I do. The blood.'

'John, I'm clean if that's what you're worried about.'

'That's good to know, but I still don't like the taste of blood. Come on, let's go in.'

'John...'

'Please Sherlock, I feel a bit exposed here, let's go in.'

'You feel exposed? You started.'

John rolled his eyes, turning to the sitting room. Once inside, he closed both the sitting room and the kitchen doors, heading for the kettle.

'How can you possibly think of tea right at this very second?'

'I'm a bit nervous, to be honest.'

'Isn't that a bit late for that? You've already kissed me.'

'You may not have noticed, but this is a huge step for me.'

Sherlock approached John's back but hesitated to touch him. 'I take you're not interested in Mycroft then?'

John turned, his forehead all wrinkled, his mouth open. 'Mycroft? Where did you get that idea?'

'He's been hovering around you a lot lately, always whispering in your ear. The only reason I see for him to do that would be to take you away from me. He thinks you are my weakness. And you... you've been treating him differently. I saw both of you tonight. You were breathless and blushing to whatever he was saying to you.'

John blushed again and cast his eyes down.

'He's been insinuating himself onto you, most disgustingly. He even gave you the suit you're wearing tonight!'

'This? He said it was just a temporary loan, for the party, so I would fit in. He knows I don't have decent suits.'

'It's a gift, John. Mycroft knows how to use his charms when it's convenient to him.'

'And you don't?' John couldn't resist, amused that Sherlock could think such preposterous things.

'I only do it for cases. He doesn't have limits.'

John pulled a chair and motioned for Sherlock to sit also. 'No, Sherlock, he's not interested in me. This is embarrassing!' He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. 'He... he's been trying to push us together.'

Sherlock frowned and blinked. John looked at him, 'He said that I looked good in this suit and that you had liked it too, and-' he stopped, too embarrassed to continue.

'Yes, and...?'

'He... he said that you, eh, liked when I was, um, more assertive. That I should just try to grab you and kiss you.' John's face was red now. Now that he said it out loud, Mycroft's "advice" sounded even more absurd. Worse, he had taken it.

Sherlock's mouth fell open, _how dare Mycroft say that to John?_ He felt flushed with embarrassment. Because his brother was right. _Damn him!_

'When I checked on you, I wanted to kiss you right then and there. But then Mycroft showed up and the moment was lost. As we rode home I couldn't stop thinking about it, though. I couldn't help myself. I had to.'

'I felt the same way when you were holding my chin.'

John felt his face burning. Just then the kettle whistled, so he jumped to his feet and made tea the way each of them liked it. This bought him some time, he wasn't sure of what to say or do next. Returning with the two mugs, he sat back down. 'So. Where do we go from here?'

'Where we've always been. Together.'

Both had the mugs close to their lips. They smiled and sipped.

'So... is he right, then? You liked when I grabbed you?' John smiled playfully.

'I'll never ever say Mycroft is right about anything,' Sherlock said sulkily. Then his face changed and he smiled into his mug. 'Not even you can make me.'

'Oh? Is that right?'

Sherlock sat his mug down on the table and leaned forward on his elbows. With the ghost of a smile, he dragged his words, 'I'd like to see you try.'

John gave a feral smile and moved faster than Sherlock thought possible.

The End

_... for now._

* * *

A/Notes: And that was it, hope you liked it. As I said, this was meant to be lighter and fun.

When I publish, the story is written, and I just do a final-final-final-final-final editing before posting each chapter. I can't just make it up as I go along like some people seem to do. But... you've all been enjoying this story so much, giving me all sorts of fun reactions, that yesterday I had a kernel of an idea. If I can make it as fun as it sounds inside my head, I may end up adding to this story. So my apologies if it takes a while (and it is possible that it doesn't work and therefore, is not post-worthy). Sorry, I would never leave you guys hanging if I had had this idea before.

Until then, happy shipping! Thanks guys for following, favoriting and reviewing. You always make my day by doing so. You make fanfiction fun.


	7. Hereafter

A/Notes: Yay! My beta came through and I'm very excited to be posting this. So here's my idea: sometimes, as the credits roll at the end of a movie, we see short sentences that tell you what happened to the characters afterwards. I had done something similar in my last story, but only a small note at the end. Then, as I posted this one, you were enjoying it so much that it gave me ideas as to what I wanted to see beyond chapter 6. It didn't work in a short format, though. But I'm happy with the way it turned out.

This is the result. Enjoy! And this time, this _is_ \- really - the end.

* * *

**7\. Hereafter**

Brian was shoved out of the white van as the blindfold was yanked away. Blinking in the blinding daylight, he fell to his knees, trying to make himself smaller. He closed his eyes tightly, cringing, hands shielding his head, expecting to be mercilessly shot in the back any second now. But then he heard screeching tires peeling away from him. He opened his eyes widely. The first thing he saw was the logo for The New Scotland Yard. Looking to the side he saw the van already a few blocks away. That's when a camera on the corner turned to point itself at him. He blinked, unsure. Turning his head to the opposite direction, he saw another camera do the same. Goose pimples ran throughout his body. _No, it can't be_. He looked around and saw yet a third camera swing slowly, only to stop once he was on its sight. His blood went cold and he started trembling, looking from one camera to the other. Stumbling and scrambling up, he ran inside.

The sergeant on duty didn't know what to make of the blabbing crazy man that was trying to turn himself in and confess, but took him in anyway, so someone else could try and make sense of the lunatic's story. Not soon after that Greg came down to ask if anyone like Brian had showed up. He had just received an anonymous tip via an untraceable email incriminating one Brian Winston, with apparently his own electronic diary relating his crimes as an attachment. The email also stated Brian was on his way to turn himself in.

By the following day his victims had been contacted and came in to identify him and press charges.

According to Brian, he had been abducted the night before at a charity event. He was approached from behind by two men. A gun was pressed against his back. He was told to walk and keep looking straight ahead.

Once outside, he had been blindfolded and handcuffed. After a long drive, his captors released him into what seemed to be an area in an abandoned warehouse used to store valuables: a chain link cage with a padlocked gate. His "cell" had a small camp bed, a small sink and a bucket with a roll of toilet paper. He was left alone overnight, in the dark, without any word or explanations.

On the following day, four armed and masked men handcuffed and blindfolded him again, taking him to a different room and shoving him onto a chair. A man (he supposed it was a man) spoke to him, with his/her voice electronically and creepily distorted. His captor called him/herself an observer and merely - somewhat politely even, urged him to turn himself in and confess. When he asked what they would do to him if he refused, the voice calmly replied, 'Pray that you will never find out, Mr. Winston. I would have to abandon my post as an - observer.'

Those words were followed by the sharp sound of a blade being drawn. Soon after that, he found himself at The New Scotland Yard. He smelled of urine.

The Yard looked into the CCTV footage showing the white van, but the number plate was fake and led them nowhere. The van seemed to have an uncannily good timing as the cameras never seemed to be pointing in the right direction as it drove away. Soon it vanished without a trace.

...

Cousin Edward recovered from his injuries. And with time and the help and support of his loving boyfriend, as well as his family and friends, he gradually recovered from his trauma, too. He was also contacted to identify and press charges against Brian. That helped him on his way to recovery.

Two months later, his boyfriend proposed while paddling on a lake. He made the mistake of kneeling to do so. Edward threw himself in his arms and both fell into the cold water. Shivering - and not only because of the cold water - he said yes.

Four months after that, they had a small and intimate ceremony at Auntie Willelmina's gardens, with family and friends. He and his husband went on to have a happy and long marriage.

...

Sherlock was "forced" to attend the wedding so he brought John as his guest. He made sure to buy John another suit, one that made him look "even better than the one Mycroft had given him". The colour of the shirt suited him extremely well, bringing out his eyes, if Sherlock were to say so.

Of course his annoying brother noticed and approached them "to say hello", so Sherlock made a spectacle of himself by pinching John's tush in front of Mycroft. John was not too impressed with Sherlock's (lack of) manners as, unfortunately, the whole wedding party also saw it. He turned an unbelievable shade of red and, pulling Sherlock aside, went off on him for such a public display. Sherlock claimed that no one in that particular group would care about the gesture, yet tried to soothe him by making promises of future compensation later on in the evening. So John melted, or rather, hardened at the prospects and forgave him. He remained outside by the cars for a while.

Sherlock would be lying to himself if he didn't acknowledge that the wedding had given him ideas as to a more permanent and effective way to stake his claim and keep Mycroft's grubby hands away from _his_ John. He immediately started to contemplate ways in which to proceed. He wanted to find the most optimum scenario that would not only guarantee that John would say "yes", but also, extract _that look _from him. The one that always gave him chills, the one he reserved only for Sherlock, when they were alone and intimate. He needed to find the right combination of design, presentation, setting, venue, time of day, words, _et cetera_ \- all perfectly orchestrated to be the most appealing to John. _Romantic_. Only for John's sake of course, he would care for such things. And _not_ on a boat on a lake.

Detailed research and careful planning was necessary. Unfortunately, it would have to wait until tomorrow. It would be most unrealistic to try to get started tonight.

He smiled. _Tonight_.

...

Mycroft rolled his eyes at his brother for being so publicly crass - social grace was never Sherlock's forte. But as soon as they turned away from him, he smiled contentedly, happy for his little brother. After all, John was perfect for him, and he could tell that maybe, in a not too distant future, there'd be another wedding in the family.

_Ridiculous that Sherlock is still jealous!_

Mycroft himself was going to bring a guest today, but that had been cancelled at the last minute due to a call regarding a triple murder in Camden Lock. He didn't resent it though. This wasn't the first cancellation, nor would it be the last, from either one. After all, both of them had demanding jobs. _Just as well._ In any case, as a safety precaution, he always preferred keeping his relationships very private.

J+S

* * *

A/Note: I never got into Mystrade and never imagined I'd ever write anything in that vein. As I edited the first chapter though, Greg seemed to be in awe of Mycroft, that's why I added that bottom note. But I just couldn't resist this last bit. After all, even the British Government deserves love and a happy ending. Hope you liked it. And please let me know what you think.

This is _really_ the end! I mean it this time. Thanks for reading!


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